The Invasion
One morning they were just there. No clues where they came from. Piles of soil were covering the stairs and square in front of the art museum. Speculations about that it was an art piece abound, that it was an installation of a very well-known artist. But no one wanted to take credit, or maybe rather responsibility, for the action. And even if they had, there was no reasonable explanation of how all this soil could have been transported to there. No one who had been out that night had reported anything strange, no weird noises, no traffic that shouldn’t be there, nothing. If it hadn’t been so unbelievable the best explanation would had been to say that it had emerges out of thin air. But no one wanted to propose the unbelievable, and although people had started to believe so, they kept their mouth shut..
Time past and even if the people had started to accept the changed landscape of their city, the authorities had documents that needed to be filled in, and documents need reason and not fantasies. Therefore the process of locating someone accountable for the action was dragging on, no one wanted to take care of something that wasn’t their responsibility, so the documents went in circles while the soil were left to its fate.
The change came slowly, first it was just some grass and weed that had found their way into the soft soil. After a while they were followed by other plants and mosses, covering the ground so that the statue of Poseidon more looked like a god of greenery than the ruler of the ocean. Soon seeds from nearby trees also found themselves a new home at the square. The root systems now merging with the soil helped slowing down the erosional effect the rain had hade on the piles, and like the trees you find climbing in a rocky terrain, their roots also climbed on to the stone stairs and spots of asphalt between the soil-covered areas.
Nowadays we don’t see people leaning against a streetlight while waiting for the bus, their backs are connected to the smooth bark of a tree trunk. Instead of resting their feet on a bench, they sit down on one of the slopes, softly stroking one of their hands through the moss while having their thoughts elsewhere. They may not have notice it, but something has changed.
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